


False Idol

by warcatscat



Series: The Felling of False Idols [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Assisted Suicide, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Blood, Funerals, Gabriel is a Prick, M/M, Violence, Wing Violence, divine intervention, possible depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-07-23 03:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20001658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warcatscat/pseuds/warcatscat
Summary: The Apocalypse was averted, so Aziraphale thought they'd have at least a little time to themselves. But Heaven and Hell have decided on a new battle, and Gabriel gives Aziraphale direct orders not to intervene this time.





	1. Lots of Lovely Things

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is unbeta'd, so please bare with me if you notice any mistakes. This is also my first Good Omens fic, I hope you enjoy it!!!

There were lots of lovely things in A. Z. Fell & co’s bookshop. The building itself was small, and old, but certainly not shabby. The inside was cozy, always warm, and the shop itself was enticing in ways humans simply couldn’t express. Even if the current owner had a tendency to be harsh when dealing with customers, and never seemed to want to _sell_ his stock, there was something that drew people in. 

On a good day, if the shop was quiet and there was a light drizzle outside, you might be able to strike up a conversation with the shopkeeper. He would tell you stories of his treasures within; not the books, but other things, like black and white photographs, or curious objects he claimed to have inherited from his ancestors. Everything in the shop had a story; if one was determined enough, you might at least leave the shop with one or two words-of-mouth. 

But one curious object had appeared rather suddenly a few months ago, after the shop had mysteriously closed for several weeks, the doors locked and no notice to be found in the windows. 

A little oak box with a glass pane across the front was hung up above the register’s counter. If you looked carefully, you could see a small photograph, a set of keys, and a strangely-shaped pair of sunglasses within the narrow box. Customers had been wondering at the box for some time now, but never worked up the courage to ask about it. The shopkeep hadn't had his previous vigor in keeping the place clean and organized as of late, and was much more easily persuaded into selling his tomes than the months previous. Many assumed the box to be a memorial of some sort. And their assumptions were entirely correct.

* * *

It was a lovely day for a stroll in the park. Ducks swam around merrily in the pond and entertained all manner of visitors, the sun was out and the sky was cloudless. 

It was nice to have a little freedom in their days now, and today was a very important day in Aziraphale’s opinion. Today he was going to take a very large risk, and test the limits of that freedom that came in the aftermath of the Not-Pocalypse. Aziraphale was dressed in his comfortable cream-colored coat; what was the point of eternity if one was uncomfortable, after all? Crowley looked quite lovely in his light black jacket and skinny jeans. Long and tall, almost delicate, if the angel didn’t know better.

Although he couldn’t see the demon’s face, there was a slight twist to his mouth that, to the casual observer looked like mere amused disinterest, but looked like a glowing smile to the Angel. The pair were standing shoulder to shoulder, silently enjoying each other’s company, and Aziraphale casually rolled is shoulders as if to stretch them His wings fluffed and spread in the ethereal plane for just a moment. 

This was it. This was the opening Aziraphale had been looking for. 

Carefully, and without looking anywhere but straight ahead, Aziraphale reached slowly to his left and took Crowley’s hand in his own, gently intertwining their fingers. 

Crowley stopped for a fraction of a second, a near imperceptible blush jumping up on his cheeks. Aziraphale chanced a glance from the corner of his eye, but the demon hadn’t stopped walking. He hadn’t even pulled away. In fact, Crowley seemed to worked up a little extra courage himself, and gently stroked Aziraphale’s thumb with his own. It was acceptance; this was really happening, and it was ok. 

Aziraphale knew Crowley had been waiting for this moment for a while, but never would have initiated anything without asking Aziraphale a few dozen times to ensure the Angel’s comfort. If Aziraphale was really ready for public affection, and maybe a closer relationship, he would have to initiate it. 

They walked for a while, just holding hands. Aziraphale began to lead Crowley away from the crowds, towards a shady spot at the end of the park. A small miracle was waiting for the pair in the form of a little wicker basket and a red-white-check blanket. There was an easy silence between them as Crowley spread the blanket and Aziraphale began to set out a small plate of tasteful sandwiches and two flutes of champagne. It was the first picnic of the rest of their eternity together. They could figure it out together. 

* * *

“Good news!” a voice startled Aziraphale out of the pleasant silence of the bookshop, “We’ve found a way to fix the mess you made!” Gabriel appeared in the doorway, tight faux-smile and clean gray suit adorning him. Aziraphale found himself at a loss for words for a few minutes, blinking owlishly at the archangel.

“O-oh? I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean…” Aziraphale stutters as he idly fixes a series of books on the shelf that didn’t need fixing. He felt incredibly uneasy just being in Gabriel’s presence; this wasn’t supposed to happen. It had barely been two months since the apocalypse had been averted, and the sham-trials of Heaven and Hell, and Aziraphale had really been hopeful that their trick had been successful. Crowley outright refused to speak about the trials, which left Aziraphale even more on edge wondering what exactly Gabriel had been willing to do then. And what would he be willing to do now?

Gabriel’s smile tightened even further, his face appearing almost like over-stretched plastic. “I think you know exactly what I mean, my annoying little Principality.” 

Aziraphale swallowed hard and took a steadying breath; niceties were over then, it appeared. He turned to face the archangel fully, and lifted his chin just slightly before addressing his ex-superior. 

“I did what I believed would be right. I will not apologize that bloodlust didn't have the opportunity to satiated.” He said simply, with as much confidence as he had. “I am not interested in destruction for the sake of destruction. And clearly, the Almighty isn’t either, because She hasn’t caused me to Fall, nor any other Divine punishments.”

“A punishment doesn’t have to come from God to be Divine.” Gabriel retorted, his smile falling into a sharp glare. It was a threat, but Aziraphale refused to take the bait. He refused to let Gabriel intimidate him. “Anyway, we are willing to overlook your past failures and welcome you back into the Heavenly Army, blah blah blah, be in Megiddo in three days.” The archangel clearly wanted to leave, and was beginning to look both bored and mildly frustrated that he couldn't affect Aziraphale like he used to. He straightened his silken tie and began to turn before a single word stopped him in his tracks. 

“ _No_.” Aziraphale’s answer was quiet. His hands fiddled with his coat behind his back, but otherwise he was the picture of calm and steady. Had Crowley been there, the demon would not have been able to believe his ears; the typically timid and overly-loyal angle openly defying the Archangel Gabriel directly. 

Gabriel spun on his heel, straightening taller than (humanly) possible and fixing Aziraphale with a venomous stare, as if he could ignite the principality with his eyes alone. "Excuse me?" All pretense of friendliness or propriety was gone from his voice. This was the most dangerous position Aziraphale could imagine himself in, and he had stared into the face of Satan himself. “I think you should rethink that response.”

Aziraphale squared his shoulders, lifted his chin a little higher, and met the archangel’s eyes. “I don’t believe in bloodshed. I don’t believe in war. And I will not help you destroy the Almighty’s creation over nothing.”

Gabriel set his jaw, huffed, and crossed his arms over his chest. “The Great War of Heaven and Hell is not nothing. We will win.” Suddenly, Gabriel was inches from his face, one hand fisted in the front of Aziraphale’s shirt. “You have no right to disobey direct orders. And if you tell your little traitor friend about this, or if either of you interfere, you’ll both learn what Divine Punishment really means.” and with that, the Archangel was gone, leaving Aziraphale alone in his bookshop. 

* * *

“Ok, angel, what’s wrong?” Two days later, and angel and a demon were having tea in the back of a quiet bookshop. Crowley looked concerned, at least as far as Aziraphale could tell. His mouth was turned down just slightly, the clock in the little kitchenette was ticking softly, and it occurred to Aziraphale that he had no idea how long they had been sitting at the table, nor how long the shop had actually been empty. 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” He asked. Crowley’s face set stern for a moment before softening again. He sighed dramatically, before reaching for the spoon in Aziraphale’s hand. 

“You’ve been staring at this creme brulee for six minutes, and your tea went cold almost ten minutes ago. Ya’got something going on up there. What’s wrong?” he asked the last two words more pointedly, and set the forgotten desert aside. The angle fidgeted in his chair for a moment, trying to decide what to say. 

“They’ll be having their _war_ tomorrow morning. It seems all the work we did was for nothing…” He stood, as if to begin cleaning up and putting away the dishes by hand, before Crowley put out a hand to stop him.

“What war, angel? Where are they having it? We could still--”

“We can’t stop them!” Aziraphale half-shouted over the demon’s speeding words. “Gabriel--” He worked his jaw for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Gabriel stopped by a few days ago. He wanted to leave me a warning. To not interfere.” He pushed past Crowley towards the sink, not feeling up to the act of a miracle. Crowley was out of his chair in a moment, his movements silent as a snake.

“Did that prick threaten you?!” Crowley spat the ugly word. Aziraphale flinched, involuntarily, which caused the demon to soften just a touch, and lower his voice. “Did he threaten you, Aziraphale?” When the angel hesitated, Crowley moved around him to dry the dishes with a towel. 

“In so many words. _We_ have instructions not to interfere tomorrow. I already denied him my own metaphorical sword in the fighting.” there was a beat of silence before Crowley spoke.

“You’re afraid.”

“Of course I am. I thought we would have _time_ . I thought the earth and humans and Creation would be safe! At least for a few _years_ . But there’s a war that begins tomorrow at dawn and somehow the powers of Hell and Heaven have at least agreed upon a time to have their war and I feel absolutely _powerless_!” His hands had begun to tremble, and Crowley took him by the forearms and guided him to sit on a couch in a room off from the kitchenette. “I don’t like the thought that all of our effort was for nothing. And I don’t believe this is part of the Almighty’s plan!” 

“Then we should do something, Angel.” was Crowley’s simple answer. Aziraphale shook his head, unsure that it would be possible to stop a second time. 

“I don’t think we can. And I don’t know if we should.” he responded, quietly. “I don’t even know if I want to.” Crowley watched the angel carefully, as he sagged against the demon. This was much closer than they had been before, but Crowley was trying not to ruin the moment. His angel was clearly hurting. And then Aziraphale grabbed onto Crowley’s midsection and buried his face in the demon’s chest. 

“ _I’m so tired_.” he mumbled, barely a whisper. Crowley tried his best to be comforting and tender, feeling like nothing but sharp lines and points while trying to hold onto an absolute marshmallow of an angel. He took a slow breath and moved a hand to rub Aziraphale’s back. 

“I know angel.” And they stayed that way well into the night, even into the following morning. One of their first real moments of closeness happening on the morning of a war. 


	2. A Lesson Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel comes back, and he is Angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this is the chapter that the major warnings apply to, so please read with caution!!!

“I told you to leave things alone.” Gabriel’s voice echoed around the bookshop, but the archangel himself remained invisible among the shelves. “I told you there would be consequences if you and your little boyfriend interfered.” 

“I didn’t…. I didn’t do anything.” Aziraphale stuttered out, both terrified of not being able to see his attacker and terrified of seeing Gabriel’s wrath. He was also significantly confused; He and Crowley had avoided leaving the shop all day. Crowley had only left a few hours ago. “I was here in my shop all day. But… I take it the battle went poorly?”

A shelf tipped over just in front of the angel. He startled, and involuntarily felt his wings flex up, ready to fly away as quickly as possible. 

“Don’t mock me.” Gabriel boomed. “You meddled again where you didn't belong. You and your demon sabotaged weaponry and the battleground itself!” 

“What?” Aziraphale flinched at the all-encompassing anger that was surrounding him. “I was here, all day. I swear!” 

“LIAR!” Screamed the archangel. Pure fury shook the building, pounding into Aziraphale hard enough to knock his breath out for a moment. “Your sigils were everywhere. No demon could have written them! None of our fleet could touch the ground or reach Hell’s armies! And they had the same inability on their own side of the battlefield!” 

“W-well, not to state the obvious, but why not simply move the battlefield?” Aziraphale offered timidly. And with that question, every light in the shop went out. 

In the dark, a figure appeared; blocking Aziraphale’s path. “I have had enough of your games. I have had enough of  _ you _ . And since I apparently can't kill you, I’ll have to do the next best thing.” Gabriel’s shadow threw another shadowy heap onto the floor in front of him, and moved to place one foot on top of the figure. Aziraphale’s heart sank into the floor long before the lights flickered dimly back on. 

Poor Crowley looked utterly sick; sleek jacket torn and sunglasses gone all together. His hair was missing in patches, dripping the black ooze of demon’s blood down his hairline. His eyes were fully golden, but appeared out of focus. His fangs were out, something that Crowley had only allowed once; back in ancient Mesopotamia, when he needed to seriously intimidate a large crowd of people for a reason that now escaped the angel entirely. 

But Aziraphale had seen him just hours ago. He couldn’t have done anything wrong! How the other could have come into this state was a terrifying mystery that the angel was quickly trying to piece together. 

“For someone who can change into a snake, he walked pretty easily into a rat trap.” Gabriel answered the unspoken question. Now Aziraphale felt truly sick. Not only had he done nothing to  _ actually _ protect the earth from this foolish war, now his dear friend was being hurt, and quite terribly as well.

“Gabriel, please. Your fight isn’t with him.” It was a desperate plea, and ultimately futile. 

“My fight is with both of you. Lessons were clearly not learned the first time. And while holy water may not affect this thing,” he took a moment to add pressure to Crowley’s spine, earning a grunt from the so-far silent demon, “my sword just might.”

Aziraphale lost all sense of composure at that moment. Begging for Crowley’s life wasn’t something he had ever expected to have to do again, and it certainly seemed that their trick a few months previous had been a little too successful. 

Gabriel pushed the tow of his shoe harder into Crowley’s back, until finally the demons wings popped out of hiding from the sheer pressure. When Aziraphale moved to push Gabriel off, hoping for a moment of distraction, the Archangel waved his hand in a way that froze Aziraphale in his place; a barrier that prevented him from doing anything but watch.

“Demons, of course, are masters of torture. We angels, being divine creatures bathed in the light of Heaven, are above such practices.  _ But _ ,” Gabriel reached down and took one of Crowley’s wings, stretching it to full length while the demon squirmed under him. “That doesn’t mean we refuse to use  _ alternative methods _ of convincing when the need arises.” Crowley’s right wing fluttered, and suddenly flapped hard, trying to knock Gabriel off balance. The demon was beginning to look a little less mentally fogged. However, his actions earned him a sharp kick to his ribs while Gabriel held tight to his wing. Crowley coughed and shook his head. 

“Gabriel please, just let him go. We weren’t the ones who interfered. I’ll work for Heaven again. I’ll come back. I’ll do  _ anything _ , just  _ please _ let him go!” Crowley made an upset noise at these offerings; Aziraphale realized something was making it quite hard for the poor dear to think, no wonder he was barely fighting back.

“I don’t want anything from you. I want you to suffer for making a mockery of me.” Gabriel spat back at him.

Aziraphale watched as the archangel bent Crowley's left wing; slowly, deliberately pushing the bones and muscles in a way that would strain them. He twisted the joint hard, and the angel could see the great strain of both parties working against each other; Gabriel's knuckles turning white from the tightness of his grip and Crowley grimacing, trying to flex the wing and force his attacker off. Finally, there was the sound of a great snap, and a long moan of pain bled out of the snake under Gabriel's boot. Yellow eyes stared out into space, completely unseeing. One long, black wing hung limp in Gabriel's fist, bent at a horrible angle and shedding a few feathers onto the floor from between the archangel's fingers.

“Stop this! This is senseless! Angels don’t commit acts of violence for no reason!” Aziraphale screamed, straining against the hold of the superior angel that kept him from running to Crowley’s side. Gabriel waited a few minutes, staring with disgust at the demon panting under his foot, and ripped an extra handful of silky black feathers from the edge of the wing before releasing it. The battered appendage flopped next to Crowley on the floor, limp and useless, before Gabriel lifted the right.

Desperately, Aziraphale hollered the first thing that came to his mind, “Stop this! Anything you would do to him you can do to me. This is enough of a lesson. Just stop!”

Gabriel’s plastic smile returned to his face as he eyed Aziraphale like a human child pulling legs off a spider. “Yes, I could. But you wouldn’t learn the lesson if you were dead.” 

And with those words, the archangel released Crowley’s wings completely. He unsheathed a sword seemingly from thin air, and plunged the blade into Crowley’s spine, just above the back of his hips. The serpentine demon hissed and spit, and tried to work himself free, only to find that he was pinned totally to the floor. After this final act of horror, Gabriel spread pearly white wings and took flight; his pants and shoes covered in blackened ichor.

* * *

The moment Gabriel was gone, his spell was broken. Aziraphale slumped for just a moment, almost losing his balance before collapsing on his knees next to Crowley. Whatever spell he had been under was broken as well, and he panted from the pain of the sword in his back. Aziraphale’s hands fluttered nervously around the sword, knowing that Crowley would bleed out much faster if it was removed, but also that the demon would be in less pain. And when he tried to heal Crowley, he found that his access to miracles had been denied. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.

Aziraphale planted a soft kiss in Crowley’s hair before yanking the angelic sword free.

Crowley screamed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh…” Aziraphale found himself apologizing over and over, trying to gently pull Crowley into his arms and hold him, as the demon had held him the night before. 

“Don’t.” Crowley bit out through pain; finally able to speak. “Don’t do that angel. Don't do that to yourself.” Weakly, one of Crowley's hands reached for Aziraphale’s, loosely gripping his fingers; but Aziraphale knew that Crowley was holding onto him for dear life. 

“I love you.” Aziraphale blurted out. “I love you and I never told you and I was scared I would get in trouble and it’s all so silly now isn’t it?” With his free hand, the angel pawed at his eyes, trying desperately to stop the flow of tears.

The demon smiled, more inky blood leaking out from the corner of his mouth and staining his otherwise perfect teeth. “You… you’re not silly. You’re perfect.” he panted. “You’ve always been perfect. Best of the lot.” 

“Don’t go.” Aziraphale begged, and began to sob fully. Crowley stared past him at the ceiling. 

“I won’t. I’ll be right here angel.” he whispered, as his corporeal form sighed and his demonic soul evaporated from the effects of a blessed blade.


	3. Mourning and Memorial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tries to Heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning to not post for several days but some life got in the way. Rest assured that everything is written and I WILL post the whole fic at some point. It may just be a little more slowly than originally intended. Otherwise, Enjoy this chapter!! :D

Obviously, no one came to the shop the next day. Or the day after. Aziraphale had sat on the floor for hours, cradling the body of his friend - his  _ love _ \- as it bled out and stained all of his favorite clothes. He held the body and sobbed, and planted a few kisses into the dead demon’s hairline, although it was salty and slick with sweat. After two days of this sobbing, Aziraphale lifted the body with great care, and moved into the back rooms to lay his friend on the couch. He had never understood before why humans shut the eyes of the dead, but now, as he gently pulled down Crowley's eyelids, he thought he might understand. He willed the tea kettle to whistle and found that his access to miracles had been returned; and began to cry anew. He had never thought Gabriel to be so cruel. 

Aziraphale waited, thinking, before taking Crowley again in his arms and taking off into the sky. He flew with the body for over an hour, looking for a flowery spot with a nice view. 

Aziraphale landed lightly on grassy ground. He would never take Crowley to an actual cemetery, but he wanted to do what humans did when they lost a loved one. He wanted to mourn. Without looking at the ground, he willed a hole in the earth large enough to fit the demon’s tall frame, and laid him with care. But Aziraphale didn’t know what to say. He had never gone to a human funeral, and never had the need to mourn like this. He willed himself to say ‘I love you’ one last time, but his tongue refused to cooperate, and his voice wouldn’t have worked anyway. He just stood in silence for a while, staring out into the flowery field. 

Finally, with a wave of his hand, the earth returned to swallow the body of his friend, wrapping around him and covering the place where he lay with wildflowers and grass. Aziraphale found himself exhausted, but now that the burial had taken place, he felt the need to do  _ more _ .

Aziraphale flew once more, heading in the direction of Crowley’s flat, a place he had only been once. He almost expected Crowley to call out to him as he walked through the threshold, but of course, the apartment was silent. Aziraphale sought out Crowley’s plants first, taking them out to the old Bentley and making space to bring all of them. He found a spare set of Crowley’s sunglasses on a table in what would be a sitting room if the demon had ever had company. The bedroom was the most difficult to enter; silent and yet filled with Crowley’s leftover energy. It smelled like cologne. Aziraphale moved with purpose to the closet, sifting through Crowley’s selection of clothes until he finally pulled free a soft leather jacket. The other had been ruined, but Crowley liked to keep spares of his important things because they frequently found themselves in bad situations. Aziraphale had never been more thankful for the demon’s hoarding. 

With what he had come for in the car and in his arms, he miracled the flat empty and newly for rent, and drove back to his shop, to find a new home for his beloved’s car and other important possessions. 

* * *

Aziraphale built the box by hand. Glue and nails and wood and glass coming together. He had several splinters by the end of it. For a long time he debated a name plate or some kind of plaque. And yet it didn’t seem like Crowley’s style, and this was all about him. Carefully, the angel patterned out little leaves and flowers along the edges of the wood, before sliding in the front panel of glass. From the back, he carefully laid the Bentley's keys, (now in its forever home at the back of the bookshop where Aziraphale could keep an eye on it), a pair of custom sunglasses, (carefully folded and laid at an angle so the side could be seen as well), and a sleek yet soft leather jacket, (lovingly pinned to the back panel so it could be clearly seen). After a bit of hesitation, he added a little black and white photo the pair had taken when one of the first cameras came to London, just to have Crowley’s image somewhere close. When the work was done, Aziraphale took a long time to appraise his work. 

He wondered for a while if Crowley would like it. His heart sank thinking on his old friend; perhaps he should have waited longer to make this. There had been so much more Aziraphale wanted to do; so many sights and tastes and smells. Who knew what humanity was capable of? 

And as the days went by, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he wanted to experience them without Crowley. He loved his bookshop, and he loved Creation, of course, but it had only been a few days and he was positively  _ moping _ ! He couldn’t even sit still long enough to read, he had left cups of tea and coco to go cold countless times, he didn’t even want to go out to his favorite restaurants. Everything felt  _ wrong _ . 

It didn’t help that he felt guilty.  _ He _ certainly didn’t know how the Battlefield had been tainted, and yet he had been blamed. And the love of his existence had suffered the consequences. 

Well, it wouldn’t do to sit and stare at the box for the rest of eternity. He knew exactly how Crowley would feel about where the angel’s train of thought was going, and Aziraphale decided to at least open the shop again. He picked up the fine memorial and hung it with care, right above his antique register counter, and moved to the windows to flip the sign and unlock the door. 

* * *

Months went by without significance. It was hard for Aziraphale to find joy in almost everything he used to; he couldn’t focus long enough to read, and almost never finished more than a page before giving up. He went out to fine restaurants on occasion, but never anywhere he had gone with Crowley. His books walked out the door more often than he ever would have allowed before.

And he was tired. Almost constantly. 

Aziraphale found himself wandering off to couches or his bed more and more often to sleep; something that had never appealed even after hearing Crowley rave about it. There had always been so much to experience. And he didn’t really even need to sleep. But lately, he was spending time just staring into space, and would realize hours or days later that he hadn’t moved. He would lay down and allow his mind to wander, only to wake up a week later without any knowledge of what was going on around him. 

He found himself  _ wanting _ to sleep. 

He found himself wanting to sleep until the end of  _ time _ itself. 

After almost three months of this going on, he closed the shop ‘until further notice’. He felt himself a ghost in his own bookshop; wandering between shelves and dusting them without interest. He made cups of tea that went abandoned at his table or desk, and wasn’t interested in miracling them warm again. All being said, Aziraphale was  _ bored _ . 

And this boredom was leading him to  _ moping _ .

He knew Crowley wouldn’t have wanted him to mope about, positively listless. But Crowley would have also torn Heaven and Hell apart in rage at Aziraphale’s slaughter (and  _ yes _ it was a slaughter, although Gabriel could call it retribution all he wanted.) The demon may well have smashed bottles of wine at the Heavenly Gates themselves, fueled by fire that (he would never admit) didn't fully come from Hell. Just the thought of his swaggering, bragging to his angel about his exploits was enough to make Aziraphale smile. 

He thought of getting drunk with the demon. Listening to broken words dribble out like a little waterfall in a little brook; tripping words that made sense, albeit loosely. He thought about old dusty bottles of wine and leaning close to his friend in their giggly haze. 

“I miss you, you wily old serpent.” he said, mostly to himself. “I miss you incredibly.” Aziraphale let himself pretend that said serpent may really be there, just beyond what his corporeal form could see. He’d said he’s be around after all. 

This depression wouldn't do anymore. Aziraphale came slowly to his feet, stretched his shoulders, and straightened his jacket. After taking a moment to tend to Crowley’s beloved plants upstairs, he came down and firmly unlocked the door; the conscious decision that he would  _ have to _ perk up. For the sake of his friend. 

Aziraphale placed himself primly behind the counter and gave a small (noticeably watery) smile to his first customer in several months. 


	4. Stream of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time moves constantly, even if you don't feel it. And then suddenly, someone appears to stop Aziraphale in his tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again friends, time keeps getting away from me almost as badly as it's getting away from Zira... BUT this is the chapter with the quote that started it all!! I wonder if you can figure out which one. ;)

When you’re functionally immortal, time passes for you in ways that the people around you can’t really fathom. For Aziraphale, this meant that time stretched and squashed around him according to his mood. On good days, time passed quickly, like a river flowing freely around stones. He traded in books; making additions to his collection, and occasionally letting a few go. He took some advice Crowley had given him a long time ago; the books he was most attached to stayed on shelves  _ upstairs _ , so he didn’t have to use scare tactics to keep humans from trying to touch them. 

On less good days, time flowed less like a stream and more like mud or a sandstorm. He would wake up some mornings unable to move from his bed (he had taken to sleeping nightly to pass the time), and stare at the ceiling until the sun had hidden itself again, roll over, and go back to sleep. Or he would wake up completely overwhelmed with a sense that he had to do  _ something _ , and spent his day unable to sit or stand still. Busy days were certainly worse. 

He stopped keeping track of the days since his friend (his  _ love _ ) had passed on. He stopped keeping track of days in general, except for when his mobile would tell him of some important upcoming date (something Crowley had set up, and at the time had endlessly frustrated him. Now it was comforting.) He would make calls and send gifts to Adam and the Them for birthdays or beginning school. He sent Anathema and Newton an anniversary gift, and dozens of letters, which he suspected the dear girl was sending to keep him from feeling alone.

Any yet, Aziraphale found himself more than a touch shocked to see said witch and her boyfriend (fiance?) standing in front of his door one morning, each holding a rather lovely pot of flowers. One golden yellow rose and one white spiky looking plant that Newton cheerily called a ‘snake plant.’

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Aziraphale asked the pair after opening the door for them. “Can I take that for you my dear?” the rose plant looked quite heavy, although Anathema seemed to be carrying it quite well. Aziraphale tried not to fuss over the couple, but finally had them sitting comfortably with twin cups of tea in the back room, with the plants set carefully on the floor. Aziraphale worked a small miracle to keep dirt from getting on the floor and to remove it from the pair’s clothes. 

“W-well, you know… it’s been a year-” Newton began stuttering before Anathema cut him off smoothly. 

“We know you haven’t really left since he died.” He said quietly, deciding not to mention Crowley’s name in case the angel became upset. “And we didn’t know how much you’ve dealt with human funerals…”

“Ah..” Aziraphale found himself a little misty-eyed. These sweet, sweet humans and their customs. And their love and care for each other. “No… No, I haven’t been to many. Not in a very long time.”

Anathema nodded, and reached out for the angel’s hand. The first time he had been touched since holding Crowley’s body. 

“Well, a lot of cultures have memorials on the anniversary of a loved one’s passing. A way to celebrate their life.” She left the connections to religion and an afterlife unsaid. “We just thought, since he loved flowers so much, but you might not want to get rid of the ones you’re still taking care of, we could bring some over, and maybe you could show us where he was buried. We could leave these for him.”

“To yell at from beyond the grave.” Aziraphale said under his breath, and yet found himself smiling. Crying heartily, of course; tears streaming freely down his face, but miraculously never making it past his cheeks and chin before vanishing. He took a moment to gather himself as the young witch squeezed his hand. “Yes. I think that would be lovely. I think he would have liked that very much.” 

Anathema leaned in to give him a light hug; light and comforting touch he very much appreciated in that moment. The sat for only a few moments longer before leaving the shop, and Aziraphale had to take a moment to remember where exactly he had gone in his flight. It turned out to be (thankfully) a very easy drive there. 

* * *

Anathema and Newton didn’t leave him until very late that night. Aziraphale had insisted on burying the flowers himself, and The pair of humans had wandered the shore of the brook nearby for a while, but the angel knew they were always watching him. He had planted the roses to the right of where he (was pretty sure) had buried Crowley’s head, and the snake plant to the left. Like little horns perhaps. Or a halo. After taking a few moments to admire his work, the three had gone back to the shop for tea, where Aziraphale found himself regaling them with tales of millennia ago, Crowley’s antics and their time together. 

When the pair left, Aziraphale was almost surprised to find that he didn’t feel as heavy as he had that morning. Perhaps, that night, he could sit up and read a bit later than he had been, or investigate ads for new books to add to his collection. 

It was almost dawn before Aziraphale realized he had sat up all night, for the first time in a very long time.

* * *

Healing took a lot of energy. Letting himself heal took a lot of time. 

So when the archangel Gabriel appeared in his shop one morning, exactly one year, three months, two weeks, and two days after Aziraphale’s beloved demon’s passing, the principality was  _ upset _ .

“What exactly are you doing here?” he asked in a clipped, tight tone. He fixed Gabriel with a steady stare, looking his former superior directly in the eyes. The archangel, in turn, looked at least uncomfortable at someone he saw so lesser than himself showing so much nerve. 

“Well, I’m just paying a visit-” He began.

“Bollocks.” Aziraphale spat. “Do not stand there and lie to me. You have no business here.”

“Actually I do have business to attend to on Earth.” Gabriel took a moment to straighten his tie and cuffs, likely trying to cover nervousness that Aziraphale couldn't help but revel in. “And while I was working, I thought I’d stop by… See what my agent is up to…”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw so hard that it might have broken had he been mortal. “I am  _ not _ your agent. You have  _ no right _ to refer to me as such. I suggest you leave.”

“Aziraphale, I need a favor.” Gabriel admitted. Aziraphale could  _ almost _ believe the desperation in his eyes. But the principality had no sympathy for an angel who had never been anything but cruel to him. 

“No.”

“You don’t know what it is y-”

“I don’t care. I’ll do you no favors, sing you no praises, and perform no miracles for you. You and I have no connection. I have been retired from my heavenly duties. And you threw away your bargaining chip a long time ago.”

“Is this about your demon associate? Because Heaven is willing to forgive you for the lies.” Gabriel was beginning to get agitated, but suddenly Aziraphale couldn't help but push back against his will. 

“Get out of my shop Gabriel.” He said shortly, but with so much force of will that the archangel was startled. 

“Aziraphale you have to see that Cr-”

“DON’T say his name. Don’t talk about him. You have no right. Just leave.”

Gabriel squared his shoulders, ready to make a final plea. “I had to do what was necessary at the time. I had to dispense Justice.”

“Justice.” Aziraphale almost hissed. His eyes were becoming wet, his resolve beginning to crumble. His energy was sapped. “You don’t serve Justice. You work to your own ends and refuse to listen to anyone else.” His whole body shuddered with emotion he had locked away a long time ago. He let himself cry freely, in front of this archangel who had told Aziraphale that emotion was useless for his entire existence. Gabriel had never felt so trapped in a room he had walked into of his own accord, with no idea how to handle the openly weeping principality. 

Aziraphale wiped his eyes, and almost smiled for a moment. “You know, I used to idolize you,” he began quietly. “I used to think you were God’s most perfect angel.”

Gabriel was rooted to his spot on the floor, almost entranced by Aziraphale’s words, and remembering the Beginning, when the little blonde fledgling had followed his every move.

“But now,” Aziraphale sniffled as his tone grew harsher, choked on emotion so thick it could be cut and served with ice cream, “I know you’re a false idol. You are an angel who has gorged himself on power and now believes he can play at being God. And now that I have seen it, you have no power here.”

There was heavy silence for a few heart beats, before Gabriel began a confused stumbling “Aziraphale… I apologize--”

“GET OUT!” Aziraphale screamed, his throat going raw at the sheer force of his lungs and vocal chords; the least composed he had ever been in his existence. He felt his wings flare out on instinct, like an animal trying to seem larger and more threatening, or an angel assuming more power than he’s ever had before. His face became deep blood red, tears poured harder down his face, and his fists clenched tight. “You have nothing left to say to me. There is nothing left you can do to hurt me. And if you do not leave willingly, I will return your wings to Heaven in a mangled heap!” He took a step closer to the archangel, who then took a few steps back, towards the door. 

Aziraphale had never been so violent before, so harsh. But the part of him that had always been loving and careful had been buried. He would take no more of the archangel’s bullying. He had no reason to be careful of his existence without his other half. 

Gabriel vanished in a moment, the sound of wings flapping and one stray feather the only evidence he had been there at all. 

Aziraphale sagged against his register counter the moment he was gone, all of the vicious energy sapped in his moment of rage. He put his head in his hands as he leaned on his elbows on the desk, tired and shaking. He couldn't stop crying. 

Would Crowley have been proud of that outburst or horrified? Was  _ Aziraphale _ proud of that outburst? 

He was so tired. 

He was so upset.

He was  _ lonely _ .

Aziraphale took a while to calm back down; sobbing into his hands and leaving the sleeves of his jacket soaked in salt water. When his breathing (panting) had finally evened, and his crying had slowed, he took a minute to look towards the door; where a white feather was sitting forgotten by its owner. Aziraphale had a few uneasy thoughts, warring with himself for a long time. 

Was all of this heartache worth it anymore? 

It was for a human; their lives were so short. They could find love, and find where they fit in life, and live and die together, and perhaps find the afterlife together. 

He had only known Crowley since almost the Beginning. He was outcasted from all of Heaven and Hell. He would live eternity meeting and burying humans.

Or.

He moved to his desk, where he penned a rather lengthy note to Anathema, and tucked away a key in the paper’s soft folds before sliding it into an envelope, and addressing it to her. A small miracle send it to the post, to be delivered in the next two days. 

He sighed to himself, “Good Luck, my dear.” and went upstairs to look for an old tool he hadn’t held in over two years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snake Plant: https://garden.org/pics/2018-06-18/tabbycat/86972e-250.jpg
> 
> Up close: https://lemonbayconservancy.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Snake_plant_flowers-827x520.jpg
> 
> Aren't they pretty? :D


	5. Heavenly Riot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes care of unfinshed business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the updated warnings!!! I am tagging this chapter for assisted suicide just in case.

Holding a sword was like riding a bike; he’d learned to do it a long time ago, and was shaky getting started, but once he was going it almost became an afterthought. 

He wasn’t looking for vengeance. He didn’t want justice. But he couldn’t stomach the idea of Crowley’s disappointment if he were to hold the blade to  _ himself _ . Aziraphale decided the only way to end the mopiness and loss was to allow Gabriel his petty desires. 

Aziraphale would break into Heaven. Aziraphale would show all of the Heavenly Host the archangel's viciousness. And if he was lucky, Aziraphale would be sent into oblivion quickly. 

The sword in his right hand was a familiar weight, but he had no need of its fire. He almost felt unworthy of holding it. Any yet he felt something powerful rise within him as he marched up to the gates of Heaven holding his old sword; his shoulders just a touch more straightened, his head a fraction of an inch higher than the last time he had been here. 

It seemed that other angels were now wary of him; rumors of his invincibility and now the sight of him carrying a holy weapon set the Host on edge. Crowley would have thought it silly, a ‘bunch of nasty angels getting their feathers ruffled over their own bias.’ If he was in a better head space, he would have been a little ashamed of himself, causing so much unnecessary agitation. At the moment, he was keeping his face neutral and marching straight for the archangels’ offices. Straight to Gabriel. 

* * *

Heaven was quiet; Gabriel’s office sleek and empty. Aziraphale couldn’t remember anything else feeling so soulless. 

“You and I have unfinished business.” Aziraphale said lowly.

Gabriel had the grace to cover his momentary startle with a shake of his shoulders, and looked down at his desk to shuffle some papers. “I thought you didn’t want to see me.” He sniffed.

“I changed my mind” Aziraphale returned, and readjusted his grip on the sword. 

“Doesn’t take long apparently.” Gabriel retorted without looking up. “Do tell me, are you planning to take revenge?” 

“I’ve never been vengeful.” Aziraphale tossed the sword carelessly onto the archangel’s desk, making him jump. “If you are so determined to be a slaughterer, I would have you do the honors. I want all of Heaven to know your blood lust.”

“So you mean to begin another rebellion?” Gabriel slowly took the handle and inspected the blade before him. It was made for Aziraphale, and didn’t quite fit his grip, but it wouldn’t matter in the end.

“I mean to make an example of you as you make an example of me. Your obsession with war has cost me everything. I will let you take vengeance, but in turn I will cost you your pride. All of the Host know I am here. I have been rather boisterous.” The principality took a moment to smile for himself, a little pleased at causing such a ruckus.

“You think it will make a difference?” 

“It already has.”

“And what about your precious humans? I thought you stood for their protection.” Gabriel looked a touch uneasy, but otherwise remained coolly standing in front of Aziraphale.

“They are impressively resilient. And I know that they are in capable hands. After all, someone did stop your foolish war.” Aziraphale smirked.

Suddenly, the archangel grabbed Aziraphale by the coat, and shoved him out of the office into the center of the Heavenly plane. He held the sword out straight, pointed at the principality’s throat. 

“Principality Aziraphale!” His voice was thunderous in the echoing halls of Heaven, “Are you prepared to admit to your crimes against Heaven, and submit to Divine punishment?” His voice boomed so loudly it shook Aziraphale’s body, and he felt a migraine begin to form. Good thing that would end soon.

“I have committed no crimes against Heaven, other than Love. I am here only so that the Host will see your defensive and foolish  _ pride _ .” He returned evenly.

After a pause, and a moment for Gabriel to look at the other Archangels gathered around him, and curious Host making their way to the source of such noise; he shrugged.

“Well, you’ll die the same to me.” and he thrust the blade into Aziraphale’s throat. 

And there was silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all we are in the home stretch!!!! I can't believe its almost over.


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life ended, as it began, in a Garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read and left amazing comments, but especially fuckyeahdeafandasexual, my very first subscriber ever who commented on every chapter. You really kept me motivated to keep posting!!! <3
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy the last chapter of this fic. As always, feel free to scream at me in the comments, or you can find me on tumblr at warcats-cat
> 
> Enjoy <3

He found himself, in the end, in a garden. His head was no longer pounding, his skin no longer hot. He felt utterly calm. He was content to lay in this surprisingly plush grass for the rest of eternity, watching idly as the tree’s leaves above him danced in a light breeze and birds floated lazily among clouds miles above. Blades of grass brushed along his palms and fingers, and he flexed the muscles of his hands, just enjoying that feeling. 

But something in his heart was tugging him to stand. He needed to be somewhere. 

He took a final deep breath and sat up, slowly. 

Aziraphale didn’t really recognize this place. 

And yet, he trusted his instincts. He let the feeling carry him where it wanted; bare feet treading lightly through a lush and overflowing garden. He felt content to amble, somewhat. Bright golden roses towered over bushes of lilac. Tiny purple pansies poked their heads from under emerald green shrubbery. Lilies of the Valley formed a fountain that flowed down a hill into another part of this gorgeous garden, leading to a rainbow of flowers and plants. 

The feeling in his heart pulled him towards a grove of fruit trees, and a little house appeared off in the distance. At the edge of the walk to this cottace, a Woman was standing, waiting for him. She appeared old, but not frail. He knew Her immediately. As he came closer, Aziraphale wasn't sure what to do with himself. Should he bow to Her? Should he introduce himself? Was he even permitted to look on Her face?

He had no time to make a decision, before the woman had come to him and taken his face in both of Her hands. 

“My Child, you have done so well. I am proud of you.” she said simply. Aziraphale found himself overwhelmed with emotions and felt his eyes tearing up. He had always had faith in the Almighty, but it had been so long since he had spoken to Her. He had always felt like he had failed Her. 

She gave him a light kiss on his forehead, like a mother embracing a son returning home from a long journey. Then She released his face and gestured towards the cottage. “Come find Me when you’re ready. I need to speak with both of you.”

Aziraphale didn’t have time to ask what She meant before She had vanished. He had the thought to go into the cottage, but that feeling again told him that he needed to keep walking in the garden first. There was something else he had to find. 

Aziraphale walked for some time, although he couldn’t hope to tell actually how much. He ambled among flowerbeds, taking in the colors and smells of flowers; some he recognized, and some he didn’t. He debated sampling the fruits he passed, but had the feeling there would be time for that later. Finally, he found a patch of garden that wasn’t filled in as completely as the beds he had passed. 

And there, at the end of the row: a figure on his knees, digging determinedly in the dirt of the flowerbed and carefully placing flowers in arrangements of his own making. 

Aziraphale hardly allowed himself a moment to breathe, let alone hope. 

The figure froze, leaned back, and wiped his hands clean on a towel nearby, before turning his face to the unsure angle. Gold irises, human irses, faced Aziraphale and he was taken aback. The ex-demon smiled, spread misty gray wings in offer of an embrace, and then looked startled. Aziraphale realized distantly that he had begun to cry. And not an elegant cry; this was what humans called ugly-crying. Aziraphale found himself scooped up in long and slender arms, held close enough that he could have heard Crowley’s heartbeat if they still had corporeal bodies. Aziraphale felt his soul shatter, just a little, but knew that Crowley would carefully piece it back together, just like the garden bed that he was building. 

They spent a long time holding each other; Aziraphale crying into Crowley’s shirt and touching his face, remembering that night and how it felt to hold the dying demon. Crowley let his face be manipulated, and in turn returned every kiss Aziraphale had given him while he lay in the angel's arms, reminding the angel that he was  _ here _ , he was  _ alright _ , and that he would  _ never leave again _ . He whispered into his angel’s ear a chorus of “I love you’s” while Aziraphale muttered out the same thing into his chest.

Later, when Aziraphale had calmed down, and the pair had been able to speak properly; Crowley showing off his flowerbeds in the vicinity, and Aziraph ale stubbornly refusing to let go of at least  _ one _ hand; they walked back to the Almighty's cottage, hands held together tight, and as they passed the flowers, Crowley pointed out patterns he had planted or flowers that he particularly liked. 

She was waiting for them with tea and biscuits. Aziraphale still felt a little out of place, and he couldn’t imagine how Crowley felt in Her presence. And sure enough, when the angel looked out of the corner of his eye, the ex-demon seemed to be fidgeting quite nervously. She gestured for the pair to sit with her at the table and they both fumbled with the chairs before sitting. Crowley was sitting up ramrod straight with his hands in his lap; a look that Aziraphale didn’t think suited him. She offered them tea which Aziraphale offered then to pour, and then had to will his fingers still so that he didn’t spill the tea. It didn’t occur to him that it wouldn’t be possible to spill tea in God’s Domain. 

“You can relax, My children. I am not angry with you. As I told you both when you arrived here, I am very proud of you. But I wanted to speak to you before you left.” Crowley looked just a touch disappointed at the thought of leaving; it appeared he was really enjoying the opportunity to garden as much as he liked. 

“You have both done what I most hoped; learned from my Children how to live as fully as possible. And you have learned the full expanse of Love.” She looked saddened for a moment before continuing, “Although I do not expect you to understand My workings or forgive My decisions. I needed you to meet. I never wanted you hurt.” 

Now Crowley looked upset, but also unsure whether he should voice these concerns. Aziraphale felt for him; finding out you were cast violently out of heaven just to fulfill God’s plan may be even more painful than the Fall itself. But it also appeared that Crowley was accepting of the idea. Perhaps he had spoken with the Almighty before Aziraphale was brought into the picture. Aziraphale reached out and took Crowley’s hand under the table, reminding the ex-demon that the angle was here to ground him. 

“But you have been hurt, and I didn’t expect for one of My Own to act out so harshly and against My orders. Or, for that matter, against My direct intervention.” She took a sip of tea and gathered her thoughts, “I will offer you both a choice. There are a few angles here, in My domain, tending the gardens and helping Me. You may both stay here, and be protected forever, or you may return to Earth, with new corporeal forms, and hidden from the eyes of Heaven and Hell.” She paused for a moment, and smiled, “Of course, I will always be keeping an eye on you, but you both knew that.. 

The decision was made before the offer was given, of that, Aziraphale was certain. They loved the Earth and humans, and all of their quirks and small discoveries too much to give it up. And Crowley could build a garden on Earth too, although perhaps not as grand. The Almighty smiled at them one last time, accepting their unspoken decision, and stood. 

She embraced each of them one last time. She took one of each of their hands, and said to them, “Good luck. Hold My love close, and hold your love for each other just as close.” and with that, the pair of a jobless angel and an ex-demon found themselves standing in an old, darkened bookshop in Soho, as if they had never left; and embraced tightly before pulling an odd-looking oaken box from the wall above the register, taking each other’s hand tightly, and heading into the flat upstairs to get thoroughly drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about this chapter: God Herself possessed me to write it, IMMEDIATELY after I finished writing chapter two, and like weeks before any of the other chapters were finished. So God said Gay Rights.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Reading!!! I love you!!!


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